


Shout At The Devil

by spacetaylor



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Read at Your Own Risk, actually is not even that explicit so, can't tag much because of spoilers, first original work on Ao3, i guess, remix of an old one shot, very badly written(???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetaylor/pseuds/spacetaylor
Summary: Two friends find themselves tangled into the worst situation that can happen to someone on valentines’ day: A murder.





	Shout At The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on 2016 (I think) for a writing contest at high school and the original work is like 10000 less intense than how this one turned out to be.  
> This work is a remix of my own story based on some lines and the original outline/idea of the narration itself.  
> Please enjoy and don't think i'm insane!  
> Not corrected yet.

**February 14 th. 2015.**

**San Junipero, California.**

How did we end up here?

Mel, my childhood, very adored friend and I, we’re both sitting on a wooden bench inside the police station that reeks of cheap whiskey, donuts, sweat and soluble coffee instead of being home, watching some cheesy movie on Netflix and crying our eyes out because, well, it’s Valentine’s day, I’m single and Mel just broke up her four year relationship with her now ex-boyfriend, Patrick. Yes, the same Patrick that’s now inside a body bag due to the fact that… he’s _dead_. My friend and I (actually just Mel because I was waiting for her outside) found him in his apartment when we were about to smash his car windows out of rage and resentment (of course the police don’t need to know that).

“Ms. Damon, I would really appreciate if you could please calm down as much as you can and tell me what happened. Please, don’t omit any detail that you might think is not important. Right now, every single things counts for this investigation.” Officer Warner, from the San Junipero Police Department that _kinda_ looks like George Clooney on his early thirties asks my sobbing friend while I’m just there, looking at her without being able to do much because, even though I’m a potential witness, I never went inside Patrick’s house. It was Mel who found the body while she was trying to talk to him and make him explain why the fuck did he break up with her yesterday, February 13th. A day before the most romantic date of the entire year. Mel still had Patrick’s apartment key, so, while I waited outside the building talking to my mother on the phone, she decided to use her spare key to open her ex boyfriends apartment in order to confront him.

What she saw next, made her jump out of her skin.

“I-I-I…” Mel started talking but she _just couldn’t_ stop crying and sobbing cleaning her tears with a very used, crumpled Kleenex. I hugged and told her she had to breathe so she could calm down. It was like when a pregnant woman was getting into on labor and she had to do this breathing exercises so the baby doesn’t pop out of her before arriving to the hospital.

“Whatever information you can give us is useful. We already took your friend’s statement and even though it’s very helpful, she didn’t find the body. You did. We need as much detail as you can manage.”

“My friend and I went to Patricks’ apartment because I needed to talk to him, you know? I wanted an explanation of what could’ve possible gone wrong in our relationship so much that he just decided it to end it so suddenly. So I used my key to his apartment to enter because he wouldn’t open the door and I know he was there, his car was parked outside… I opened the door and I didn’t see him in the living room which made me think that maybe he ran out of something and went to buy, I don’t know, milk? Bread? But Pat is not that kind of man that likes to walk when he was a car so I discarded that idea.”

“You’re doing great, Mel. Keep going.” I murmured, hugging her shoulders. She sniffled and continue with her testimony while Officer Warner wrote down as much as he could.

“I s-started calling his name and eventually, since I didn’t get any answer, I called to his phone… it started ringing so I followed the sound, realizing it came from his room. Ssso-so I opened the door and- and- oh, _God- I can’t-_ ” Melissa stuttered, babbling nonsense while crying desperately.

“Alright, so. Ms. Melissa Damon walked towards the victims’ room following the sound of his phone’s ringtone and when she opened the door from said room she found-“

“Patrick’s corpse.” I completed in low voice not really wanting to see Officer Warner’s cold blue gaze.

“Exactly.” Officer Warner said. Then, a deep silence made presence in the desolated hallway. “Right. We’ll do everything to find the murderer Ms. Damon but right now I need you to go home, sleep, take a shower of whatever you might need than can help you calm down. I assume your friend, Ms. Dashner can keep an eye on you while we sort this out.” The officer said, looking at me with a very faint smile drawn on his dry lips.

I nodded, still holding a sobbing Mel. “Absolutely. Let’s go back to my place, alright?” I murmured and she just babbled out a response I couldn’t quite understand, but interpreted as a yes.

“Before you go, I would like for Ms. Damon or maybe even you Ms. Dashner, to think if Mr. Patrick had any… _conflicts_ with anybody. Maybe he was getting in trouble with the wrong people. If you could make a list of potential suspects that you think that they have something personal against Mr. Miller… that would be useful. In the meantime, I’ll send a unit to make guard outside your building today and tomorrow, for safety.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you, Officer Warner. If you have any news, please, keep us informed.”

*

_Later that day._

“Inform me more about this case Officer Warner. I’ve read the files, seen the crime scene pictures, which are horrifying by the way, but I need to know more. So, fill me in.” Homicide Detective Chris Romero walked rapidly through the empty halls of the San Junipero P.D while reading the files of the newest case he’s been assigned to.

“Well, there’s not much I can’t tell that isn’t on the files already but alright. Patrick J. Miller, 28, male, American. Killed on February thirteen with a thrift shop lamp which is now the homicidal weapon found at the crime scene and has been taken to the lab to look for possible DNA. Time of death, eleven thirty p.m. the only witnesses we got are Melissa E. Damon, 27, ex-girlfriend, she was the one who found the body today at two p.m. or so before calling the police-”

“Did you say _ex-_ girlfriend?” Detective Romero asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Well, she can be a suspect. Her statement says that Miller broke up with her yesterday in the morning, his body was found almost at midnight. Most likely a violent crime or manslaughter perpetrated by a very enraged girlfriend. I mean, Miller _did_ broke up a four year relationship for no apparent reason. She was probably quite angry.”

“What about her friend? Ms. Dashner. She can be a suspect too. Maybe she was jealous of her friends’ relationship and decided to kill him out of envy.” Warner offered, Romero sighed.

“Don’t think so. Why would she kill him if she already knew that they broke up?” he raised his eyebrows again, opening one of the cardboard folders to reread one the files again. “Get me those DNA results as quickly as you can _._ ”

“What? Why?”

“Damon’s medical report states that she has anxiety and is under a heavy medicament to control it.”

“You think she might… _over_ used it?”

“Possibly.” Romero nodded. “I need all information you can get about her medicine for possible side effects and get me in contact with her psychiatrist.” Romero said, making his quick way to his office when one of the lab officers, Harrison Jones, came rushing to him, papers in hand, looking rather shocked, pale almost to the bone. “What is it, Jones? Tell me.”

“Results are not quite ready yet but we found a match... you won’t believe it.” The blonde man said, looking at the detective through his glasses.

*

 

_A week later._

_February 21 st, 2015._

 

If it’s not easy faking a murder, imagine how hard it can be making one a reality.

You have to have a lot of discipline to kill someone. _Especially_ if that someone turns out to be just best friend’s boyfriend.

Patrick was a nice guy the entire time I knew him. He treated Mel nicely, loved her, _cared_ for her and eventually fell in love with her so much that it sickened me. However, his love for her didn’t stop him from sleeping with me one night Mel was away in a business trip. That’s how our story together began. With us completely wasted, fucking in different surfaces of the apartment he shared with my friend; he was good with details but average at bed.

Our little affair started on September, 2014. It went on until that fatal night on February 13th, 2015, only seven days ago now. The entirety of the time it was just the two of us, not really caring about our day or our daily problems enough to talk about them with each other, but to see ourselves as a scape valve. All our rage, our frustrations, our pain went strictly into our sex, our fucking which turned out to be an enraged physical relationship. He would choke me, I would spank him, he would tie me up, I would bite him in places Mel didn’t care enough to explore. It was all a very toxic, secretive relationship. But we loved the danger of it. And our stress was certainly gone by the time we stopped fucking for the day.

However, everything was turning out just fine until one of us fucked up. It wasn’t me, of course. It was Patrick. He committed the _worst_ mistake he could: he fell in love. And love is way more risky than sex, something to be really afraid of. I rolled my eyes. All good things must come to an end and I couldn’t have him drooling over me because I would lose my Mel, my friend, the woman I loved since I was four years old. I wasn’t willing to lose her over a simple fuck, no. Pat was making everything more difficult and he was about to break.

That’s when I decided to kill him.

But, to complete my plan I had to had, as I said at the beginning, _discipline_. So I started organizing my thoughts. And eventually decided to begin with something simple: setting a date. It’s kinda like setting up a wedding, with the only difference that this groom is going to end inside a body bag; I look at the calendar I decide that February _14 th_ would be bizarrely good enough a nice irony for the whole situation.

Then, something as simple as setting a date: I started incorporating gloves into my wardrobe and outfits which made everyone thought it was very chic and elegant but didn’t realize the real purpose of my gloves: no fingerprints means no DNA, no trace, no unwanted clues.

Afterwards, something even simpler: gift your best friend the murder weapon. Something very homelike, unsuspicious, easy to transport without raising any eyebrows, something light to manhandle when needed the most. Maybe a set of knives. No, too weird, she doesn’t even like to cook. Maybe a paperweight. No, it lacks the weight I need-

After thinking a lot, you I got into a conclusion: a lamp. Not a very aesthetically pleasing lamp, not those very light lamps, no, a heavy one, that looks like it was taken from the fifties, that is slightly heavy but good enough since it was a very thick base and could easily be disguised because, after all, it’s a piece of furniture; since you friend doesn’t wear any gloves, you let her move her “gift” around her and her boyfriends apartment, making sure the lamp gets a quite well imprint of her fingerprints.

And finally, wait for the final act hoping nothing goes wrong. Except that something _does_ go wrong, because Patrick broke up with Mel just one day before Valentine’s Day, I know exactly why: because he’s no longer in love with her, he’s in love with _me_ which horrified _me_ and thus ended up hurting dear Melissa.

Then, the plan goes one day ahead than planned when I decide to execute.

Execution is messy but just the right amount. It starts simple, with a visit between friends with benefits. Pat and I talk for a while, he explains his true feelings for me and his plan of leaving everything behind to run away with me. As if.

I smile gathering my hair into a tight bun. No DNA, no trace. That’s rule number one. Then, I just simply go along with it, playing his little “romantic” game that only happens in shitty rom-com movies. I wasn’t going to run away with him, I didn’t love him, I loved Mel, very much actually. But she always had the pretty things while I was on second place, on the shadows. She got the dream job, dream apartment, dream money, married parents, great body and, lastly, the _perfect_ boyfriend who turned out to be _not_ so perfect in the end. Everything I wanted she _had_. It was time for her to know what the lack of things, having to fight to get to your goals and not having everything handed to you on a silver plate.

I fucked his boyfriend and then I killed him. Heavily. I smashed his pretty brunette head with the thick base of a 10 dollar lamp. Smashed so much times my face turned scarlet with his blood, until his white walls were no longer white and his brain turned into a bloody, pulpy mess at my feet.

When Pat’s face was almost no longer recognizable, I let the lamp slipped away from my gloved fingers and looked at my work of art. _Precious_. However, there was only one detail I had to place. One golden piece of Mel’s hair that I tangled in Patrick’s bloodied fingers. That was the final, incriminatory touch. I’ll let Mel’s medical record and past antidepressant abuse do the rest of the work.

Mel always got what she wanted. It was her turn to _suffer_. Just the right amount.

*

February 25th.

My friend’s anxiety got worse than ever, to the point that she started having hallucinations about Patrick appearing in the middle of the night, trying to kill her. Her psychiatrist increased the dose of meds and recommended some PTSD therapy but none of that actually helped. Mel was always smelling Pat’s t-shirts (actually only one that the police let her keep) and reminding herself that her ex-boyfriend was dead. While I was gleefully watching fall into an abyss of self-destruction she was never going to come back from.

It took the police two entire weeks to recognize the obvious, what was in front of their blind fucking eyes.

 “Ms. Melissa Damon, you are under arrest for murder in second degree.” Officer Warner said, when he and another detective (Romero I think was his last name) appeared this morning at my doorstep. Mel and I shared apartment for the last weeks because I wanted a first row seat to the show.

“W-what? You gotta be _fucking_ kidding me. I didn’t do it! I _loved_ him!” Melissa yelled, while being handcuffed. I had to pretend I was in the deepest state of shock. “You can seriously believe I did it! This is shit! I want to speak with my lawyer-” my friend was entering in a panic state, her face all red and puffy from crying.

“Officer Warner you have to be mistaken. Please tell me this is a lie! She didn’t do it. For God’s sake she loved him!” I tried to sound as desperate as I could while deep down I was having the time of my goddamn life.

Officer Warner looked right into my eyes and I looked right back at him expressing concern, shock, _fear._ All fake emotions but I’m one hell of an actress. He was about to talk but was interrupted by Detective Romero.

“Her DNA was all over the place. It took us long enough to finally realize that we weren’t making a mistake but… it all seems to fit right in. Ms. Damon smashed Mr. Miller’s head. We can’t give you more information but, out of the record, we think she did it while heavily drugged with antidepressants and anxiety medication.”

“She did _what_? I can’t believe it. It’s impossible! Please tell me you don’t actually believe this is true-”

“I’d suggest you start getting some new and not psycho friends, Ms. Joy.” Romero sentenced, leaving my doorstep with my friend screaming my name. I yelled back something like _‘Don’t worry! It’ll be alright! I’ll get you out of this!’_ and then entered my home, opened a bottle of wine and sat on the couch before deciding what new book I would read.

Yes. My name is _Joy_. Ironic, right? It’s obvious I’m not the happiest person on earth but my name irradiates happiness. A feeling which I was feeling right at that specific moment. That beautiful part of my life when I took life justice into my callous hands and made Mel get what she deserved. I felt triumphant and a deep, wonderful feeling of sheer joy overwhelmed me.

Will I do it again? Only God knows but, was I really going to let Mel be happy after having absolutely everything I didn’t have?

No fucking way.

THE END (?)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very aprecciated!


End file.
